The GREAT BOOK SAFARI Conclusion

You younguns sure you want to hear this last part? It's kinda sad partly but it has a good endin. Y'all sure you washed up and brushed your teeth? Naw I don't have to brush mine Jody. I jest take em out now and again an wipe them on the seat a my britches, then set them in a cup of water next to my bed. Okay crawl up here next to me an here we go. If you haven't read the other parts of this story do so now before you read the ending.

DAY 9
Home again, Home again (jiggety jig). I trundled my red wagon full of books into the house. My dog immediately went back under the bed with a clothespin on her nose.
I sat contemplating the books and wondering what to do. On the one hand I can't think of any PBS member who has, "No books smelling of rotten shrimp", on their conditions but the post office might consider them hazardous material and refuse them.
Finally, in desperation, I put them in the washing machine taking the precautions of setting it to the gentle cycle and using Woolite. An hour later I was forced to admit the experiment had been a failure. The books came out fused together into one lump of pulp. I should have remembered that most of them were pulp fiction to start with.
They were buried in a mass grave in the petunia patch. After playing taps on my kazoo and firing a twenty gun salute with my trusty Red Ryder BB gun I erected a simple stone monument with a genuine Reynolds Wrap plaque reading, "Here lie those brave books who gave their all that Free Swapping might survive". I wiped a tear from my eye and went back into the house to drown my troubles in root beer.
Day 10
My spirits were at a low ebb (as opposed to a high ebb) I had no idea how many root beers I had drank. My trash can was overflowing with empties. I considered calling RBA (Root beer anonymous) But I can quit any time I want to. I know I can. I can so. Don't argue with me. OH NO!!!. I was hearing voices.
Suddenly I realized the voice was coming from my book shelf. I KNOW THAT VOICE!! Swiftly I ran to my book shelves and began tearing off the set of 1962 Encyclopedia Britannica I had been trying to convince Goodwill to take off my hands.
In my haste I had neglected to put on the steel toed shoes I usually wore when working with my book shelf. Several heavy volumes fell onto my foot. Fortunately I had shared my camp behind the dumbster in the Canyons with a holy man (Muscatel Sam by name) who had taught me a mystical exercise to dispel pain. It consists of hopping on one foot while chanting the sacred phrase OWWWW OWWWW OWWW. My dog joined in with her own form of canine Yoga which consists of rolling on the floor and laughing.
When the pain had subsided somewhat I hobbled over to the bookshelf and there , peeping shyly out behind AZ - BL was my prodigal book. I danced wildly about the room, holding it to my breast. Now we shall have a great feast. We shall invite all the cats who had followed me from the canyons. I was not sure about the buzzards who lined the porch rail. We shall feast on baloney sandwiches with Kraft cheese and slathered with mustard. We shall drink great tankards full of ginger ale. We shall spare no expense. MY BOOK IS BACK.
I held the wayward book at arms length and read the title, "Breed To Come" Wait a minute. That book is about an intelligent race of cats who inhabit the Earth when men leave. CATS??? That explains everything. There had been no need for all of the searching. Everyone knows that no matter how cats may roam, they always come back.
END OF THE GREAT ADVENTURE

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